


No Place I'd Rather Be

by enjolrolo



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Combeferre is a major babe, Concussions, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Protests, but also a huge dork, like only a little tho, this is mainly fluff i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrolo/pseuds/enjolrolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sign falls and hits Courfeyrac in the head during a march. Combeferre's the one to who comes to his rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Place I'd Rather Be

It had been obvious since the beginning of the march that someone was going to get injured. This wasn’t just a cynical comment--Combeferre and Joly had agreed that they should steer clear of the group that was waving their huge signs without caution. Combeferre knew firsthand that getting hit with one of those was painful. That was a story involving Bahorel, a plucked chicken, and two nights in the hospital. Combeferre tried to pretend that it never happened.

The signs looked heavy, and kept coming close to hitting people in the face, so Combeferre gave them a wide berth. There was an unspoken rule that one shouldn’t carry a sign that was too big to control, but the group wasn't following it. The people were amateurs, and they’d learn better soon enough, which was unfortunate for whoever their victim was going to be. Some things had to be learned the hard way.

Everything seemed to be going well. People who were watching the march were nodding and looking encouraged. Nobody had gotten blindsided by a sign yet. Joly had disappeared into the crowd, but Combeferre was sure that nothing too terrible could happen.

Then the police showed up. They began to pressure the march into turning onto a smaller street and disperse, so that normal traffic could resume. Combeferre was towards the back of the crowd that was bunching up, but he was tall enough to see over most of the crowd. He saw a ripple of people starting to argue with an officer who’d begun to explain something to them.

“Tell them not to aggravate the cops, one of them might end up shooting someone,” Combeferre said to no one in particular. He of all people knew the dangers of being black and protesting something in a not-too-legal way. A person next to him gave him an uncomfortable look, but nudged the woman next to them and passed the message on anyway.

It was too late, because someone shoved someone else and it was a sort of domino effect after that. A few other people fell, and someone knocked into a guy holding one of the huge signs. Combeferre started pushing his way through the crowd when he saw and heard the sign fall and connect with someone’s head.

This was bound to happen sometime, but the fact that nobody would get out of his way made this even more stressful. Joly was nowhere to be seen--Combeferre would have to find him later--and why wouldn’t the crowd part? “I’m a doctor, please just get out of my way, I swear I’ll push you over, move!”

There was lots of other yelling, perhaps from the cops and perhaps someone trying to start a chant. Despite this, Combeferre managed to clear a path for himself and finally reached whoever had gotten hit by the sign. The person appeared to be a man around Combeferre’s age. He had curly brown hair, freckles and a cut on his forehead that was probably from the sign and was trickling into his eye. There were a few people grouped around him, but Combeferre snapped, “I’m a doctor, let me through,” and they got out of the way.

Combeferre crouched and helped the guy sit up. “Can you say your name for me, please?” he asked in a kinder tone than he’d been using.

The guy stared at him with wide eyes for a few seconds before grinning a lopsided grin. He had a gap between his two front teeth, not that Combeferre had any time or reason to notice that. The victim opened his mouth, but instead of his name, what came out was “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Combeferre snorted, though his face felt hot. “I think you’re concussed.”

After bobbing his head in agreement, the man turned his head and vomited, which made people back up and give the two of them more space.

“Can you remember where you are?”

“My name’s Courfeyrac. You’re really cute,” the man said unabashedly, considering that he had just emptied the contents of his stomach. “I think I’m protesting differences in wage for oppressed groups? Who punched me?”

“Nobody punched you,” Combeferre told him, and tipped Courfeyrac’s chin up to check his pupils for dilation. He tried not to notice that the latter was still openly staring at him. It wasn't that he minded the flirting, he was just worried that it was just a mistake. “I’m going to take you to the hospital.”

Courfeyrac nodded. Before Combeferre could do anything to stop him, Courfeyrac shot to his feet, turned, indicated a general direction, then swayed. Combeferre straightened up and caught him in a sort of dip, making it look like an impromptu dance. “Please be careful,” the med student pleaded.

“I’m so careful,” Courfeyrac said, though his words were a little slurred.

With a small amount of horror, Combeferre noticed that there were a few people with their phones out, filming all this, but he helped Courfeyrac stand up again. With some difficulty, he slung the man’s arm over his shoulders, and began to fight his way through the crowd again.

“What’s your name?” Courfeyrac asked, after a few minutes of this.

“Should I wait until you’re lucid to tell you?”

Courfeyrac laughed, then winced. “Nah, my memory’s great.”

“I’m Combeferre,” Combeferre said, and at long last reached the edge of the crowd, the one near the bus stop. “Do you have anyone here that you’d rather take you to the hospital?”

“When I am with you, there’s no place I’d rather be,” Courfeyrac half-sang. Combeferre blushed and looked at the ground, even though his new acquaintance’s tone was clearly joking and sarcastic. Courfeyrac continued in a somewhat louder voice. “No, my friend ditched me earlier and I don’t know where the heck he went.”

“Will he be worried?” When the two of them reached the little bus stop, Combeferre helped Courfeyrac sit down, then perched on the bench next to him.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “He probably got distracted by the bookstore we passed earlier. I’ll call him tomorrow to make sure he’s okay.”

The two of them sat in silence, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. It was mostly Combeferre trying to make sure that Courfeyrac wasn’t going to throw up again without being too obvious about it. Courfeyrac was kind of adorable, and he’d flirted first, though Combeferre still wasn’t sure whether Courfeyrac was single or just loopy from getting smacked in the head with a sign advocating wage equality for women of color.

“What about you?” Courfeyrac asked. Combeferre looked at him, confused. “Are you here with anyone?”

“My friend Joly, though I have no clue where he went.” Combeferre fished his wallet out of his pocket, so he could have his bus pass ready.

Courfeyrac groaned and covered his eyes, and Combeferre’s gaze snapped to him. “What is it?”

“I have a killer headache,” Courfeyrac whined.

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s what happens when you aren’t careful.”

“That was hardly my fault!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “I was just minding my own business, trying to keep the lady next to me from taunting one of the cops, and maybe being distractingly handsome.”

Courfeyrac _was_ distractingly handsome. Combeferre was glad that the bus chose that moment to arrive.

He swiped his pass twice, then turned to find that the bus was full, standing room only. Courfeyrac already looked a little dizzy next to him. Combeferre sighed before bracing Courfeyrac with one arm and holding onto one of the handles with the other. “Please don’t vomit,” Combeferre muttered.

Courfeyrac flashed him a smile. His forehead was bleeding again. “Anything for you, babe.”

There were a few people giving them strange looks, and an old man staring at them disapprovingly. Combeferre wasn’t sure if it was because he was black, or because they’d obviously been part of the march, or if it was because Courfeyrac was bleeding, or because he and Courfeyrac probably looked like a couple.

Inconspicuously, Combeferre muttered something to Courfeyrac about the man, and Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow before replying.

“I’m going to say something witty.”

“Please don’t,” said Combeferre.

The bus lurched to a stop, and a seat was vacated to Combeferre’s left. Courfeyrac stumbled towards it, and instantly looked relieved when he’d sat down.

It was another ten minutes before the bus rolled to a stop a block away from the hospital, and when it did, Combeferre half-dragged Courfeyrac to his feet and shepherded him off the bus. As they passed the old man, Courfeyrac grinned at him and said brightly, “You’re entitled to your opinions, but your generation is dying out anyway!”

“ _No_ ,” Combeferre chided, and pulled Courfeyrac towards the exit before they could get attacked.

“I think that could have been considered a death threat.” Combeferre commented. Courfeyrac was having trouble walking in a straight line, so Combeferre took his elbow to help him.

“Good. I’ll fight him,” Courfeyrac mumbled, but did so with a grin. “You’re really cute.”

“I think you’ve said that before.” They took the ramp instead of the stairs, because it seemed like a less hazardous option 

“It’s true. You’re so nice and you’re a doctor and you smell like vanilla.”

“The miracle of lotion,” Combeferre agreed dryly.

The waiting room was almost empty, though Combeferre suspected that this wouldn’t last for long, based on the state of the march before they’d left. A doctor came out and called for Courfeyrac within five minutes, and Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre dazedly. “You can leave now, if you want.”

“Nah, I can take you home after, you’ll need it.” Combeferre blushed a little after that, but soldiered on. “I’ll hold your stuff, your jacket and phone.”

Courfeyrac smiled, and shed his coat before handing it and his phone over. “Don’t steal these.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Combeferre answered.

Almost immediately after Courfeyrac left with the doctor, Courfeyrac’s phone started ringing. Without thinking, Combeferre answered. “Hello?”

“You’re not Courfeyrac,” said a confused voice on the other end.

“Yeah. Courfeyrac got a concussion and he’s in the walk-in right now. I’m just holding his stuff.” Combeferre tried to make it sound like this was a natural solution.

“Oh, is he okay? I feel so awful, I got distracted and didn’t end up going to the march--”

“He’s going to be fine,” Combeferre assured whoever this was. “He mentioned you, I’m sure he forgives you.”

“Good thing you were there,” said the voice.

“Yeah, good thing.” Combeferre decided. “I’ll tell him to call you back later, okay?”

“Okay. Bye." 

Combeferre hung up, set the phone down, then tried and failed to resist the temptation to take selfies on Courfeyrac’s phone. 

It was about ten minutes before Courfeyrac emerged with the blood wiped from his face and a Spiderman band-aid stuck to his forehead, in which time the waiting room got busier and busier. The doctor walked straight towards Combeferre, Courfeyrac in tow. “He needs lots of fluids, and rest. If his symptoms worsen, you should come back within three days.”

Combeferre nodded, like he was actually the person in charge of Courfeyrac’s medical help. “Can do.”

“He said you’re a doctor?” the doctor prompted.

“I’m a med student,” Combeferre corrected, and then cleared his throat. “I can take him off your hands now.”

“Good luck,” the doctor said, and gave them a knowing look before retreating back into the hallway.

Combeferre stood up, and offered an arm to Courfeyrac, who immediately took it. “How was it?” he asked, handing Courfeyrac’s phone back over but continuing to hold the jacket. 

“He was cool. He asked how long we’d been together.” Courfeyrac turned his head and winked at Combeferre, who was suddenly flustered and almost tripped over his own feet. “I said we had been married for three years.”

“Uh, I-okay, I, um.” There were a few moments of Combeferre trying to clear his throat and answer normally, but the attempts fell flat. After taking a deep breath, he changed the subject. “Your friend called, the one who got distracted and didn’t go to the march.”

“Oh, Marius?”

“I assume so?”

Courfeyrac squeezed Combeferre’s arm. “Are we taking the bus, dear?”

“I don’t know, where do you live?” The question immediately sounded creepy, and Combeferre covered his face with his free hand. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that--”

“You’re the most adorable human I’ve ever met,” Courfeyrac said. “But I’m only like three blocks away, will you walk me?”

Combeferre faked a heavy sigh. “If I must.”

They walked in companionable silence for about a block, and then Combeferre started to say “I think we--” at the same time Courfeyrac began “While you were--”

“You first,” they both said, and Courfeyrac giggled.

“Okay.” Courfeyrac took charge. “While you were holding my phone, you didn’t put your number in or anything, right?"

“No?” Combeferre answered hesitantly.

“Well, that’s dumb, how am I supposed to call you later?” Courfeyrac unlocked his phone and handed it over again. “What were you going to say?”

Trying to keep his eyes on the sidewalk and put in his phone number at the same time, Combeferre gave a distracted, “What? Oh. I was saying I think we should get coffee sometime, if you want.”

“That’s so cliche. I’d love to.” Courfeyrac smiled. “Hey, thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course, you were pretty helpless by yourself,” Combeferre snarked.

Courfeyrac shoved him lightly. “I was not!”

Combeferre gazed into middle distance and tried for a lost expression. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” he imitated pathetically.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Looking pleased and not offended in the least, Courfeyrac nodded. 

Before Combeferre could lose his nerve, he said “Courfeyrac, I think I’m a little bit in love with you.”

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac said indifferently, and then took off running when Combeferre snorted in disbelief. 

Well, he didn’t get very far--he was concussed, after all--but when Combeferre caught up to him, Courfeyrac gave a sweet “I think I love you too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> the video of courfeyrac bleeding and giving a flustered combeferre heart-eyes probably goes viral tbh


End file.
